


Burn Piano Island, Burn

by cavalreapers



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gamzee thinking about killing, M/M, Pale Porn, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Sopor Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1794664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavalreapers/pseuds/cavalreapers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What is it?"</p>
<p>He keeps his voice all hush-hush, studded with diamonds that normally catch you under the thoracic struts and make your blood pusher skip. But now, even quiet-sparkling-beautiful motherfucking Karkat makes the bone around your pan ache.</p>
<p>"This hurts something wicked, brother mine."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Piano Island, Burn

The sound of Karkat's lusus shuffling and grumbling in the other block seems to be the only thing you can hear for a stretch of time; about forty-five seconds you both experience differently. The length of the crab-creature's trip down the hall is nothing one should deign more than acknowledgement, but the sharp scrape-slide-clack is worming into your ear canals and drilling holes in your pan. You must have made a noise - pained groan - because Karkat turns to you from his position on the couch.

"What is it?"

He keeps his voice all hush-hush, studded with diamonds that normally catch you under the thoracic struts and make your blood pusher skip. But now, even quiet-sparkling-beautiful motherfucking Karkat makes the bone around your pan ache.

"This hurts something wicked, brother mine."

His brow creases and you want to kiss the worry out of him and bleed yourself dry just to get the sopor out so he doesn't have to look all frowny like that. Your joints throb, sick rhythm of withdrawal. Slow and fierce, steadysteady.

He wanted to keep an eye on you while you came off sopor, shiny stardust moirail that he is, and who were you to deny him? There had been voices - yours, mostly - chiming that you might be dangerous with sneeze out of your system so quickly.

Karkat told you to shut the fuck up.

You listened.

He moves closer, twisting his body to sit cross-legged on the couch next to you. Warm as ever, his hand grips yours and burns. He can't bear to get irate with you, though you can hear/see/feel the grey snap of his words in their big 10 pt bold - YOU WANTED THIS.

Instead he lets the silence draw out between you two, rubbing slow circles into your wrist with the pad of his thumb. One beat more, two, "What do you need?"

You take a little long to answer because you know what you need but you can't have it, and he draws your hand up to kiss at your knuckles.

Its like you're being pulled in two different directions, pain of the sopor addict left bereft and the lull of someone over their horns in palemirth. You laugh and lay a palm against his cheek.

"You know what I need." you say it slow, weary. You feel sweeps older than you are.

"You can't have that, Gamzee." he says it firm, quiet. That wrenches open the holes punched into your pan a little wider. Just a little, but wide enough. Agitation slips through, grabs hold. Everything seems sharper just for a moment, like that irritation is the lens through which you see the best. You reach up to put a palm to the back of his head, twist your grip into his hair.

"Why the motherfuck is a little freakblood getting his tell on to what I can't motherfuckin' get?"

There's much more venom than you'd ever spit at him, even when you're being stubborn yourself. It shocks the both of you, but where you pull away he holds fast. Face set, posture rigid and tense. Oh, you wish a motherfucker _would_ \--

He paps you, hiss-whispering, "This _freakblood_ happens to be the moirail in charge of withdrawal watch, so you'd better watch your tone and your mitts. I'm not afraid of you, and I'm certainly not afraid of sitting on you and papping you so _motherfucking good_ that you forget your own name."

He still keeps his voice quiet, Messiahs bless him, and you have to laugh. It breaks the spell, the voodoos growing in your gut. Your hand finds his, pulling it over - gentle, slow - and you kiss his knuckles in kind.

"Would you believe it if I told at you that was the sobriety?"

"Yes. Shut up for a second and breathe."

You listen to that, too. Quiet might be nice again. Slipping into sleep might be nice again.

You lay your head back and pay attention to your breathing, to the pulsing ache; your very skin hurts to be touched.

You think about what it is that you're missing, longingly with just a touch of resentment. Its all tangy-numb and warm and makes your head feel even better than that. Swimming in your haze and chilling you out, dulling your periphery. Stars and colors. Everything is just so motherfucking chill and you don't have to worry about a damned thing. Not caste, not quadrants, not that noisy-static screaming that kill kill kill song just as sure as your blood is purple.

Even thinking about it has you squirming, wanting, but its not good enough and that murderbeat is gonna start back up again, you just fucking know it. You can almost wrap your understanding around it again, almost take hold of it. How seeing fear on a motherfucker's face, clear and hot as that sun, feels right, makes everything click. How the sound of snapping bones and screams is a chorus you've heard and longed to hear again and again, how much better your murals could be with that gory palette.

You jolt upright and put a hand to your mouth and heave.

"Fuck, Gamzee, are you gonna throw up?" his concern rasps agains you like sandpaper.

You're standing up and moving towards the ablution block anyway, whether that nausea is gonna take hold or not. Karkat supports you, hurrying along as quickly as your creaking, burning joints allow you to move.

All but falling to your knees in front of the load gaper, there's a number of noisy thoughts cramming and crashing their way through your skull. You shake and you feel warm, clammy. Nothing comes up but sick gagging noises, feeling like your digestion sac might spill out your mouth. All the while is Karkat's hand at your back, still burning.

It calms down in a number of minutes you can't discern - three, ten?

"You gonna fall asleep there?" he asks, irritation and amusement and concern all bright in your brain.

"Naw." you rasp, "Could you give a brother a minute, though?"

It tumbles out of your mouth, and the thought coalesces in your mind before you can stop it. He pauses, and you give him the best grin you can manage.

"I'll be chill, homie." you assure him, though your voice trembles.

"All right. ... But if I hear anything funny or if you take too long, I'm busting in here quicker than shit,"

"I hear you, man."

Still uneasy as he turns away and stalks out; the door shuts, and you sit up fully. Its another stretch of time you can't figure out. Your thoughts swim colorful and sharp, clattercrashing against one another. 

There's one, lime green, that you settle on.

What are the chances you can get to his block and sneak some clawfuls of sopor, just to dull the edge off of the knives in your mind? You see it in flashes, opening the door to the ablution block and throwing out some chucklevoodoo trepidation to keep him away. It might be a bit much you're sending, you figure, but all you need is a few moments.

You push the door open.

His coon is there, right fucking there and you stay still. You stay still, you pancracked fuckwit, because you're being ripped in half by diamond dust and cooncalm the likes of which no one has ever known but you.

You twist your claws into your own hair and you shift, anxiously, side to side.

Would you even wish this on a kismesis?

You're vaguely aware of dipping your fingers into the coon, pulling them out coated in the stuff. What brings you back is Karkat slamming the door open the rest of the way. It hurts it hurts it hurts, you want to say, but he's on you and pushing you on your back and it hurts even worse and you can't muster the strength to crush his windpipe. He shooshes you. 

_Nor can you crush his wrist_ \- he holds your hands.

_Nor can you crush his will_ \- he stays steady even though there's strangled screams in your throat and tears shining hurtful on your cheeks.

"Gamzee, shh, shhh." he tells you, and you're not sure how long you were writhing, but the hands at your face and in your hair feel so good. 

Karkat paps and pets and whispers affirmations into you, eventually scooching his little body down to lay his head on your chest. He deems you calm enough. _You'll be fine_ , he says, _you'll be absolutely fucking fine as long as I'm here and you don't need that. Can you be strong?_

You sleep. There, on the floor. It must be a brief one; the nightmares don't take hold. Karkat is still there when you wake up, warm as he is and cold as you are. You can hear the faint even breaths from your pale, sleeping as you were.

Tracing diamonds onto his skin, you wonder if how long it'll take to be okay.

Just as long as you know you _will_ be, you can breathe and let him work.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted in the gamkar tag on my writing blog.


End file.
